


The Spy and the Agent

by haganenoheichou



Series: KGB Eruri [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: KGB!eruri, M/M, fbi!erwin, kgb!levi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-30 00:10:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6399775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haganenoheichou/pseuds/haganenoheichou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erwin works for the FBI. Levi is part of the KGB. This is how it starts. </p><p>Based off The Americans. First part in a series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spy and the Agent

**Author's Note:**

> So I am obsessed with The Americans. This is what happened.

Levi Ackerman was a perfect candidate. There was no other way of putting it. From all angles, he was born to do a job like this. Born of an Ashkenazi Jewish mother and a Ukrainian father, both of whom had suffered morbid fates at the hand of Stalin’s government; and then carted off to an orphanage in Donetsk, he had been raised an atheist loyal to the Party. Or rather, he had always lived and breathed the Party, so much so that he had managed to convince himself that mother and father had deserved what had happened to them – there was no room for separate national identities in a country as prosperous and uniform as the Soviet Union.

He had been a keen student at school, enough to merit a transfer to Kharkov, and then Moscow. Finally, the red bricks of the Square in Moscow had become his home. He would spend his school days poring over books, and the evenings walking around in the city center before taking the _elektrichka_ back home to the children’s home. The kids there didn't like him – he was too small, too strange, too introverted; but he had never aimed to be liked in the first place, so he didn't spare them a second thought.

He became fluent in French and Hebrew, and then, with some assistance from a mysterious gentleman who went by Ivan Ivanovich (nobody, even the most foolish of the lot, thought for a minute that the name was anything but an alias), he mastered the English language. Acing his studies, he left no time for social engagements – and none for attachments. He had been the only person not to turn and look at the doors of the school with regret upon getting his _attestat_. He was finally free to do what he wanted to do – defend the Motherland in the ranks of the Red Army.

Fate, or rather, the Soviet government, had other plans: by the special order of Brezhnev himself (although Levi doubted that the man even knew he existed despite seeing his signature on the order), Levi was called to serve the Motherland in a different way.

He remembered the smell of heavy male cologne that lined the soft, faux-velvet walls of the headquarters. He remembered being given his new name. The boy he had been before, Mark Groysman, suddenly evaporated never to make another appearance. He was Levi Ackerman now. The name rolled off his tongue with ease as he perfected the American twang he had become so good at over the years. He used the name every day now, when he introduced himself to the trainers who taught him to fight, to defend himself, to spy, to encode messages, to disguise himself so much that “even your own mother wouldn't recognize you.” Levi always gave a soft and painful smile in response to that.

Five years after his initial recruitment, he was on his way to the United States as Levi Ackerman, recent graduate of the diplomatic academy and worker for the USSR embassy in Washington, D.C. He was going to be a secretary, at least, by day. By night, though, and any time the Rezidentura ordered him, he would become someone else. Multiple someone's if he had to.

* * *

 

Erwin Smith had always been convinced he would become an FBI agent. Comic books from his childhood had convinced him it would be easy and when it came down to the actual deal, it really didn't turn out to be that hard: several screenings and tests later, he found himself enrolled at the academy.

While he trained (and became the best at whipping out his sidearm at the blink of an eye), he kept an eye on the news. The Cold War seemed to be subsiding, but he understood very well that the FBI had their hands full with illegals and spies and God knew who else, whose network extended far outside of Washington, where the embassy, an imposing and rejecting building, was: they were everywhere.

His first wife, Mary, only lasted three years of his service before declaring that it was all too much: he was too intense, and about the wrong things. She told him that he had to be as passionate about their relationship as he was about catching spies ad solving crimes. He tried.

They fell apart two months after that conversation. The divorce didn't look good on his record, but it was common enough for the rest of the boys at the Bureau to understand. There was no such thing as a happily married FBI agent. Erwin just wished he had understood that earlier.

By some strange hand of fate, he ended up following the most intriguing  of his passions in 1984. The passion’s name was Levi Ackerman, and he was by far the most interesting person to come out of the Rezidentura in years – ever since Agent Smith had joined the FBI.

Levi didn't have the appearance of a typical Soviet young man – not that Erwin would know what one looked like; since the ones that came to the United States were all impeccably styled in the latest fashions of the people walking outside in the streets, blending in seamlessly. But what was unusual about Levi was not his attire – rather, it was the rest of his appearance.

Levi Ackerman was very small. Smaller than the usual Soviet youth. Erwin had read enough about the Soviet _Ready for Labor and Defense_ program to know that the Party placed a lot of value on physical power. Levi didn't look like he could hurt a fly, barely standing at five foot three. Something told Erwin that his initial assumption was wrong, though: that Levi had more going for him than brawn.

He turned out to be right one night when he found himself in a headlock between the boy’s side and his elbow.

“Why are you following me?” Levi hissed, his voice surprisingly pleasant and his speech void of any accent that would even hint at his heritage. Erwin didn't answer, instead trying to twist out of the younger man’s hold. That proved very difficult: Levi had the stubborn grip of a recently-born child. Once he had his fingers on Erwin, he refused to let go without breaking a couple of bones.

“I'm not-,”

“Don't. Lie. To. Me,” Levi enunciated, tightening his grip. “You've been following me for three months now. And I want to know why.”

Erwin gasped when the younger man’s sinewy arm dug into his Adam’s apple.

“Fine, fine! I’m with the FBI!” He croaked out. “We keep tabs on anyone-,”

“Who might be Russian? Who might be working against the capitalist government?” Levi asked, tightening his hold a fraction – just enough to make it seem more dangerous. For a moment, Erwin considered praying or trying to reach for his radio. It turned out that he didn't have to do either thing: a second later, air flooded his lungs as Levi pushed him away, liberating his airways.

“Well, you’re doing a shitty job of being stealthy, let me tell you that,” Levi said, looking Erwin up and down with something akin to mirth in his eyes. “You stand out like a piece of shit on a flower bed.”

Erwin lifted an eyebrow at Levi's choice of words. He straightened up, standing to his full height. He was hoping it would have an intimidating effect on the younger man – but it seemed as though nothing about Erwin could ever scare Levi.

“Is that a common expression where you're from?”

Levi's mouth spasmed into a parody of a smirk. “Something like that.”

“Now,” he said, putting his hands on his hips. “Cut it out. I'm not doing anything illegal-,”

“Right. And I'm the Secretary General of the USSR,” Erwin muttered under his breath.

“The eyebrows are a dead giveaway, Leonid Ilyich,” the dark-haired youth snorted. “In all seriousness, though, do yourself and the Bureau a favor and fuck off, won't you? You're too pretty to be on the cover of tomorrow morning’s paper.”

“Are you threatening an FBI agent?” Erwin asked. He didn't want to admit that everything about Levi was unnerving at least to some degree. It was uncanny.

“Next time we meet, you will be on your knees,” Levi said, dusting his pants off and moving towards the entrance of the alleyway. His small form grew smaller in the dim light, and Erwin suddenly found himself envious of the danger Levi lived in every single day. Perhaps it was a foolish feeling to have.

“Or perhaps it will be you,” Erwin called. Levi's only response was a middle finger and a derisive snort.

 


End file.
